


Grungy Shuuhei-centric AU Fic

by goldensprite



Category: Bleach
Genre: Fraccion being murderised, Gunplay, Guns, Jewellery, M/M, Poker playing, Renji is sullen but must bite his tongue, Shuuhei is a bastard, Shuuhei is in a gang, Violence, sort of jewellery kink?
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-02-07
Updated: 2013-02-07
Packaged: 2017-11-28 12:36:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,866
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/674463
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/goldensprite/pseuds/goldensprite
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the silence, the wind sang.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Grungy Shuuhei-centric AU Fic

Findor was cheating.

Shuuhei leaned back in his chair, watching the blond man run his fingertip back and forth over his cards, pretending to deliberate.

Maybe it wouldn’t be so offensive if Findor bothered to do it with a little _style_. But he wouldn’t know style if it grabbed him by the ears and fucked him in the mouth. Him or his pain-in-the-ass partner.

Findor put his money down on the table and brought his hands back together, rubbing his thumb against his wrist. Shuuhei wondered why he kept doing that. It was possibly the most _obvious_ tell he’d ever seen, but Findor didn’t even seem to notice.

Shuuhei lit a cigar and listened to them yapping at each other. Ggio and Findor. The Tiger and The Claw. Small fry, both.

He couldn’t wait to wash his hands of this whole stupid thing. 

The room was quiet, he suddenly realised; Ggio’s rapid-fire mouth seemed to have stilled for the moment. He took his cigar from his lips and looked up, exhaling smoke.

Findor was beaming at him. ‘Now you, Kageshini.’ He sipped at his beer, then tilted his head to one side. ‘Why do they call you Kageshini?’

Ggio snorted and smacked Findor on the shoulder with his beer bottle. ‘It’s Ka _ze_ shini,’ he corrected.

Findor’s brow creased and his lips moved quietly, shaping the syllables.

Shuuhei sighed inwardly, pushing his money forward; his forearm brushed the dark bottle of cheap beer they’d given him, and the cold condensation raised gooseflesh where it touched him. He ought to drink the stuff, he supposed. Not gulping it down was probably rude, or something. But the stink of it made his stomach turn.

Ggio chugged most of his beer and slammed the bottle down, sighing loudly. He flicked his bet into the pile, then elbowed Findor.

‘You got it wrong, Findor-man. It’s _diamonds_ that’s a man’s best friend,’ he said, grinning. He reached for his satiny trenchcoat, draped over the back of his chair, and pulled a square, velvet-covered box from the pocket.

The box held a pair of long, elaborate earrings and an elegant necklace, impossibly brilliant, gleaming and sparkling almost audibly. Shuuhei ran his eyes over them, appraising. They were beautiful – cold-clear and sharply-faceted as frost, warmed by gentle strokes of luminous gold. He was mildly surprised. Ggio didn’t seem like he could tell gold _or_ diamonds from plastic.

‘The reason is,’ the tiny man was saying, ‘you give ‘em to your woman and she’s all over you.’ He grinned his shit-eating grin. ‘Ever had diamond-sex, Shuu?’

Shuuhei just shook his head. He hated being called Shuu. He was beginning to wonder if Ggio was called the Tiger because he yammered and squalled like an alley cat in heat.

Ggio drained his bottle and tossed it onto the floor – it landed on the thick carpet and thunked into the side of Shuuhei’s boot.

‘The _shit_ a woman will let you do if you give her diamonds,’ he continued. He smirked and sprawled back in his chair, taking a cigarette from his case and perching it between his lips, twirling his lighter between his fingers. ‘ _Nothing_ will get her on your cock faster.’

He stopped talking to light his cigarette, and Findor put his bet down. Then he added more cash, and looked up. Nobody commented.

Shuuhei matched the bet, and they both turned to Ggio.

The tiny man tilted his head back and blew a shivering circle toward the ceiling. The smoke obscured his features, and through the haze Shuuhei could almost pretend he wasn’t such an ugly son of a bitch.

Ggio caught his eye and pointed his cigarette at him, dripping ash onto table. ‘The best part, Shuu, the fucking million-dollar part of the fucking equation, is she’ll wear it in public. _Proud_ , fucking proud of it, and only you know what she did to earn it. It’s like she’s wearing your come all over her face.’

He tossed his money into the pot and cackled. ‘Mashiro’s so fucking _stupid_. She’ll just be happy to get something shiny. The things I’m going to do to _her_ …’

Shuuhei wondered if Ggio realised how pathetic it was that he even _needed_ diamonds to get laid. Maybe he was crap in the sack. Maybe he was just hung like a gadfly.

Shuuhei laid his cards down and Ggio followed suit. No great shakes from either of them. Naturally.

Findor spread his cards on the table and smiled.

Ggio choked, coughing out smoke, and glared at him. ‘Again?’

‘Exacta! Means, this all goes to me.’

He closed his hands over the pile of cash on the table and pulled it all closer.

Under the table, Shuuhei kicked against Ggio’s discarded beer bottle with his heel, pushing it backward into his waiting palm. He smashed it against the chair leg and jammed the spiked ends through the back of Findor’s hand.

Findor screamed like a little girl. They always did.

‘You’re a liar,’ Shuuhei told him.

Ggio just stared, his cigarette falling from his open mouth and burning a hole through the four of hearts. Shuuhei was nearly proud of being able to shut him up.

‘ _Shit_! You bastard! I’ll fucking kill you!’ Findor tried to yank his hand away, but all he did was pull his hand _higher_ along the glass, up to where it _widened_. He screeched.

Ggio staggered out of his chair; he jolted the table, spilling coins and notes everywhere in a noisy, colourful scatter. He grabbed at his coat and fumbled at the pockets, probably looking for his gun. He wasn’t even keeping an eye on Shuuhei.

Fucking amateurs.

There was a bullet in each of their throats before they even realised Shuuhei had drawn his guns.

He re-holstered, shutting his eyes to listen to the roar of the wind outside and the slump of their bodies falling dead.

Ggio’s struggling had upset a pouch of tobacco on the table – when Shuuhei opened his eyes the brown flakes were floating quietly through the air, softly denting the smooth rivers of blood on the tiles.

He wiped Findor’s blood from his face.

‘That’s why they call me Kazeshini,’ he told the cooling corpse.

~*~

It didn’t take him long to find what he was looking for: fucking amateurs couldn’t even fake a good hiding place properly. He pocketed it carefully, glancing over at the bodies. _They_ had been were part of Aizen’s elite? As human beings went, Ggio and Findor were merely loathsome, but as a team they were _laughable_. They’d shown him only their separateness that night – each man was concerned only with protecting his own worthless little hide. He’d seen no symmetry, no seamlessness, in their partnership.

Just how low had the Hand of God fallen?

The wind outside hadn’t let up; he’d been able to hear it throughout the game, even over Ggio’s babbling. It soothed him to hear: the unyielding power, the impersonal fury.

He looked back over the bodies.

Ggio had crumpled across the back of his chair – mouth still open, even in death – and Findor had fallen to his knees, his hand spiked to the table keeping him upright.

In the silence, the wind sang.

A glint of light caught his eye as he turned away – Ggio’s diamonds, lying undisturbed on the table. Shuuhei walked over to look at them again. There were scribbles of red across the white silk lining, flaming the diamonds to rubies in jagged slashes. He took the box and shut it carefully, slipping it into his coat pocket.

His cigar still smouldered in the ashtray by his seat, barely half-smoked. He put it between his lips and turned to go, setting his hat on his head and slipping outside.

~*~

He counted three cars zooming past through the filthy window before the door eventually opened.

‘Shuuhei!’

A fourth car went by. ‘You sound surprised. Expecting someone else?’

Out of the corner of his eye he saw long hair shiver as the man shook his head. ‘No… no. I just… it’s been a while.’

‘You don’t want me to come in?’

He turned: Renji was wearing a towel around his waist, his torso and arms slightly damp. That explained the delay, and the smell of cheap soap that had hit him when the door opened.

‘Of course not! C-come in.’

He stepped inside, handing away his hat and scarf. Renji took the hat and pushed the brim between his lips, holding it there while he folded the scarf and set it down on the counter. He perched the hat on top, then reached for Shuuhei’s coat.

Shuuhei watched him, watched the droplets of water slipping down his body – they caught and held the light, beads of reflected gold sliding along the grooves of his biceps and slinking along his ribs, down to his hips. The towel he wore sank lower and lower as he moved, threatening to unravel and drop to his feet. It was threadbare, almost transparent, and there was some kind of monogram on it, long faded.

Renji saw him trying to decipher it, and looked away. ‘I’ll just go change,’ he muttered, turning to leave.

Shuuhei reached out and touched a fingertip to the jut of his hipbone, smearing the moisture collecting there. ‘Don’t bother.’

Renji froze. When he turned around again his cheeks were flushed. He wouldn’t meet Shuuhei’s gaze. ‘What can I get you?’ he asked, his deep voice muted. He pulled the towel higher on his hips, wrapping it tighter.

‘Whisky.’

Renji nodded slightly and stalked off to the kitchen, still fidgeting at the edges of his towel.

Shuuhei sat down on the low couch in the middle of the room. He heard ice cubes rattling and turned to look at Renji properly, watching him over the tiled counter separating the living room from the kitchen while the redhead was too distracted to notice. It suited him, near nakedness.

‘You look nervous, Renji,’ he said.

An ice cube slipped from Renji’s fingers and skittered against the floor; Renji bent to retrieve it, disappearing briefly from Shuuhei’s sight.

‘I’m half-naked,’ he murmured, straightening up.

Shuuhei raised an eyebrow. ‘You’re usually completely naked when I visit you.’

‘Well, yeah, but this is kinda…’ He dropped the ice cube in the sink and shrugged.

‘It looks good,’ Shuuhei said, but Renji’s cheeks just got redder.

Renji took a bottle of whisky down from the cupboard; after the cheap, reeking beer at Findor’s, the rich colour alone was enough to turn Shuuhei’s mouth up at the corners. He’d brought it with him once, to spare himself from having to drink whatever moonshine Renji happened to have around. It was just as full as he’d left it, he noticed.

He glanced around the apartment, trying to guess at how long it had been since he’d stopped by. Everything looked just the way he remembered.

Renji brought him his drink, setting it down on the low wooden table in front of him. There was a pile of papers there that the redhead was carefully not looking at, and Shuuhei tried not to smile. He’d already seen them all, he just hadn’t really taken notice. Papers. Letters. Things like that were in Renji’s apartment so often they almost felt like part of the furniture.

‘Behind on your rent?’

Renji’s mouth twitched downward. ‘Just a little. I’ll have enough soon.’

He sat down on the table, placing himself across from Shuuhei and slightly below eye-level. His gaze fell on Shuuhei’s waist – most likely by accident – and he looked away quickly.

Shuuhei raised an eyebrow. He slipped one of his guns from its holster, watching Renji’s expression. ‘You’re still uncomfortable with these?’ he asked.

Renji did look at him then. His face was tight; Shuuhei suspected he was trying to look as blank as possible. He was impressed. It was unlike Renji to rein himself in like that, much less want to.

He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, and stroked the barrel against Renji’s cheek. Renji’s restraint shattered; he jerked away, his eyes all but popping out of his head.

Shuuhei carefully pushed his drink out of range of the redhead’s hips. ‘These guns are an extension of my body, Renji,’ he said, tracing it along the man’s jawline. ‘Are you really afraid of them?’

Renji swallowed, making his adam’s apple jerk, and Shuuhei circled it lazily.

‘Are you afraid of _me_ , Renji?’

He didn’t get an answer. He hadn’t been expecting one, in any case. He drew his gun along the tattoos on Renji’s chest, over and up and down, watching the redhead’s muscles tense. Renji’s tattoos… he’d never seen anything like them. He’d looked at them so many times, but seeing Renji shirtless never lost its impact. Bronzed skin, taut muscle; the thick black lines almost looked like a cage around his body, a restraint to keep his strength in check.

It was funny; the ragged towel really _did_ suit him. It looked so _weathered_ , stripped down to its barest functionality. Like it belonged to some wild ascetic who didn’t care about more than where his next fight was coming from. Seeing it on Renji’s hips, skimming his hard-muscled, black-lined torso, brushed by the tips of his blood-red hair, you could almost believe he was a warrior.

There was a stretch of untattooed skin in the middle of Renji’s chest, but even that wasn’t _bare_ – there was a ragged, ungraceful scar carved into the flesh there. Shuuhei dragged his gun over the raised skin, following it from end to jagged end. The scar, he realised, was the same age as their relationship. The wound had been newly-made, bloody and gaping, the first time he’d seen the red-haired man.

He crossed the space more slowly than he needed to. It was beautiful – the silver barrel dragging against hard golden skin; the warped half-reflection of his own face in the chrome. The gun came to rest between the tattoos bracketing Renji’s abs, bold downward strokes that hugged the curve of his muscles and almost touched at the middle of his abdomen, like an image in mirror. Those were his favourite. Renji’s muscles clenched, almost jerking the black lines out from under him. Seeing them move like that… He pressed harder, and Renji grunted; the noise was harsh and strained, and Shuuhei saw that Renji was biting his lip. The corners of his mouth stretched and twisted: Shuuhei realised he was trying not to cry out.

He leaned back, re-holstering his gun.

Renji’s fists unclenched slightly and his shoulders slumped, losing some of their tension. Shuuhei’s eyes narrowed. The gun was re-holstered, but it wasn’t any less dangerous.

He picked up his drink, listening to Renji’s broken breathing.

In his mind’s eye he replayed Renji’s straining muscles, his struggle not to bare his teeth. He wondered whether Renji had wanted to _snarl_ at him, or just whine. His hands prickled with the feel of his guns, sleek and heavy and thrumming with coiled, waiting power. Renji’s fear was natural, he supposed. _Fear_ was natural. It was even warranted, sometimes. If someone was stronger than you.

He swirled his glass slightly, watching his whisky toss the ice cubes from side to side. It really was worth it, keeping such a thing here. It was a beautiful colour – the light from outside illuminated it to dark, rich gold, the ice cubes inside like pieces of floating silvery light. He took a sip – hard, smoky, smooth – and looked at Renji. He was looking at his hands, his hair covering half his face. It looked like his breathing was slower now.

‘I have something for you,’ Shuuhei told him.

Renji’s composure shattered for him a second time: he jerked his head up, his eyes wide, and stared into Shuuhei’s face, his lips parting slightly. That was the Renji he knew.

Shuuhei took the flat cardboard box from beside him and held it out.

Renji didn’t move; he still hadn’t looked away, and Shuuhei wondered what was going through his mind.

‘Take it,’ he told him.

Carefully, the redhead did so, setting it down gently on his bared knee. There was a small furrow between his eyebrow-tattoos, and his fingers moved slowly, hesitantly. He opened the box and _gasped_.

Shuuhei took another slow sip of his whisky, watching him. He’d cleaned off the blood and found a new box; they looked good as new. They were probably the most expensive thing Renji had ever seen.

‘Go put them on.’

He was expecting Renji to jump, jerk his body away, cry out. But instead the redhead stilled for a moment, then moved slowly, like a dying man, canting his head to to meet Shuuhei’s gaze once more. His eyes were blanker than Shuuhei had ever seen them.

He took another sip, letting it slide smooth and unhurried down his throat, then got to his feet, taking the box from the redhead’s hand.

‘Come on.’

Renji just stared at him. Shuuhei just held his gaze, watching the wheels turn in his head. Renji’s eyes fell to the diamonds in his hand.

Shuuhei wondered if he’d resist. Show some backbone.

But, of course, he didn’t.


End file.
